Turn
by Blue Shadowdancer
Summary: There are more things in Pegasus than show up on a life-signs detector... as Rodney is about to find out first-hand. Whether he wants to or not.
1. Chapter 1

_This is a birthday present for **x varda x**, and will be in either three or four parts. Set somewhere pre-Sunday, no spoilers. It is, however, pretty dark, but I hope not overwhelmingly confusing, or at least, hopefully not by the end! Please do leave reviews, I love receiving them, and they're always replied to._

_Thanks to **lily moonlight**__ for the readthrough!_

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"Don't turn around."

Rodney froze in position, his right hand half way to the screen of his tablet which was cradled in his other arm. "You aren't Sheppard," he said, hesitantly.

"That's right. Don't turn around." It was a soft voice. Not one that he had heard before. Almost indefinable.

Rodney's neck twitched slightly as he fought against the instinctive urge to look behind him. This planet was uninhabited. He'd found no life signs, and only the barest hint of an energy reading. His terrified mind raced frantically as his eyes were fixed on the rough stone ahead of him, and the sliver of cloud-striped sky above. _Sheppard'll be back any minute… all you have to do is stall…_

"Are you worried about me seeing you?" he asked, trying and failing to stop his voice from shaking. "Or worried that I'll see you don't have a weapon?" He was trying to slowly edge the tablet screen upwards. Even if it still didn't show any life signs, the screen might act as a mirror…

Baiting his aggressor was probably not the most sensible move he could have made at that moment, he thought, too late. But it was default.

There was the hint of amusement in the reply. "Do you want to find out?"

"Um. No. Not especially." He swallowed hard. Dark leaves, ahead of him, twitched in a breeze. _Stall. Stall_. "What – what do you want?"

"Describe this place to me."

Rodney's head almost turned of its own accord then. "You can't _see_?"

"Of course I can. I want to know what it looks like to you."

"That makes no sense."

"Describe this place, and don't turn around."

"Alright, alright, I get it!" Rodney exclaimed quickly. While _not_ turning around. "Um, we're in some old ruins. Circular, sunken into the ground, paved. Some of the walls have fallen down in places, and there's the local variant of ivy growing over everything. Are you satisfied with that?"

A sharp pain suddenly sliced into his left arm, bare beneath the short sleeves of his t-shirt. He cried out, reflexively dropping the tablet to the stone floor and clutched at the limb, lifting it disbelievingly to his face, ignoring the crunch the computer made against the hard surface. A long gash ran along most of the length of it, from elbow to near the base of his thumb, somehow avoiding major blood vessels, but, as he stared, filling with red beads of liquid which blossomed, ballooned, spilling across his skin. "You – " he tried, and had to stop, his eyes wide with shock. "What – why did you do that?"

"To examine you," said the voice calmly.

"_Examine me?_" Rodney's voice rose, becoming shriller with pain. "By attacking me with invisible ninja weapons?" He clamped his hand over the cut, wincing at the fresh wave of pain that caused, and at the sight of blood seeping from between his trembling fingers. A few yards in front of him, his tac vest lay draped over his pack, radio peeping tauntingly from a pocket. "Are you going to let me get a bandage from my kit?"

"No."

"You want me to bleed to death here?" His voice was attaining an even higher pitch. _Sheppard, where the hell are you?_ He risked turning his head by a fraction of a degree.

"Don't turn around!"

He shrank back at the barked command. His arm was beginning to _really_ hurt. The flow of blood seemed in no hurry to stop. "Why – "

There was a shuffling noise, and then a bang, as if a door had fallen shut, timed with an impact into the back of his skull, so that he couldn't tell if the sound was real or imagined.

Rodney dropped to his knees, clutching his arm against him, blinking dizzily.

"McKay!" he heard someone shout. Someone who sounded a lot like Sheppard.

He turned around.

And pain screamed through every nerve, every synapse, all at once –

And…

And…

-

"McKay." Someone shook him, roughly. "McKay!" Then, fainter, as if they were now facing away from him, "Ronon, dial Atlantis. Get Beckett here in a Jumper."

"You got it." Hasty footsteps faded away.

He opened his eyes.

"Rodney," John said, letting out a long breath. "You ok? What happened?"

"My arm – " he began, and then stopped, realising that he wasn't feeling any pain. He lifted it cautiously.

"It looks fine to me," John said, looking at the unblemished skin. Free from blood.

"That's weird," Rodney muttered quietly. "Just plain weird." He stood up cautiously, grabbing John's arm for balance as he felt himself tilt. "I thought there was something here. It seemed so – real – "

"Are there any devices here? Things that could mess with your head?"

"I haven't found any, but – " He shrugged.

John peered into his face. "You don't look so good. Why don't you sit down, until Beckett gets here?"

"Um. Good idea." He swayed, and saw John reach out to catch him, but his eyes closed of their own accord as the floor tilted up towards him.

And…

-

"Rodney? Can you hear me?" A pause, during which he did nothing, and then the voice continued, "What the bloody hell happened here, Colonel?"

"I don't know." John sounded ashamed. "We were scouting the ruins, and I came back to check on him, and found him like this."

"So you've no idea what happened to his arm?"

"Could he have cut it on one of the stones when he fell down?"

"Not a chance. The edges are too clean. This was done with a blade."

"Ronon and Teyla are searching for anyone who could have done this. So far they've found no trail. Nothing."

"And he hasn't regained consciousness at all?"

"No, I've been trying to wake him up, but no luck."

"Rodney?" That firm hand on his shoulder again. "Rodney, come on. Open your eyes for me."

But it was too much effort to hold on, and he found himself slipping away again…

And…

-

There was a ring of stones. A ring of stones, clad in a dark cloak of grasping ivy. Shadows fell inward, filling the centre.

Rodney shivered involuntarily. He laughed at superstition, but even he had to admit that there was a creepy feeling to this place. Some unsettling emotion which had taken root in the dank soil, long ago, and now filled the air as it bloomed.

He looked down again at his tablet, adjusting the settings once more, trying to pin down the energy reading which was ghosting in and out of existence. The others had lost patience and gone to do a more traditional search of the ruins.

"Come _on_," he muttered, as the energy signature once more flickered out. "Where _are_ you?"

"Right behind you," came a cold voice. Something even colder pressed into the side of his neck.

He froze in terror, not even blinking.

"Is that _all_?" asked the voice. The owner of it sounded almost disappointed. "I was hoping for more of a fight from you. A challenge, even."

"Who – who are you?" Rodney asked, his voice nearly a whisper. "What do you want?"

"That's more like it."

"What do you _want_?"

"Oh, nothing, Dr McKay." The voice sounded amused now. "I've already got it."

_Sheppard, where are you?_ his mind was screaming.

"What's that? Sheppard? No, he won't be here for a while, I'm afraid."

_What?_ His head jerked involuntarily.

"Don't turn around!" The voice was suddenly like a blade.

"Tell me what the hell you want!" He was suddenly furious.

But before he could even blink, a blade which was like the voice was suddenly thrust into his side, cold as ice. He gasped in utter astonishment as it snickered in and out almost instantly. He looked down, and was almost surprised to see bright red blood welling out from where it belonged deep inside of him, staining purple the blue of his shirt.

He crumpled to the floor.

Rapid steps behind him. "McKay?" They reached him. "McKay?! What the – Rodney! Stay with me!"

His eyes closed.

And…

-

"Brain activity seems normal."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, Colonel, I'm very sure. I've performed the scans twice now."

"But he's not waking up. Something's _obviously_ wrong."

"John, let Carson do his job."

"Thank you , Elizabeth. As I was saying, there appears to be nothing physically wrong with him."

"Other than the fact that he's completely non-responsive."

"Yes. Other than that."

And…

-

He was lying on the floor, clutching his arm, terrified, in pain. "None of that was real, was it?" he gasped.

"No."

He gave a sob that was almost like a laugh.

"Don't turn around."

"What are you doing to me?" he managed to gasp out over the almost overwhelming pain in his head.

"None of your concern." God, he couldn't even _see_!

"Stop it! Please, please, stop it!"

"Why should I?"

Rodney moaned, hugging his arm to him, feeling its unnatural dampness soak into his shirt. "Stop messing with me like this! God, is _this_ even real?"

There was no reply other than his own ragged breathing. He took a deep breath as his vision cleared, and looked behind him –

– and there was nothing there. Ivy and stones. He moaned again. _Sheppard, what're you doing? I'm bleeding to death here!_

His brain told him that getting to his radio might be a good idea. But that required loosing his vice-clamp of a grip on his injured arm, and he wasn't sure _that_ was such a good idea.

Hadn't he heard Sheppard, a few seconds ago? Or a few lifetimes ago?

He looked around again. The dark ivy leaves were static, and the strands of cloud teased out across the sky appeared to be painted in place. A fresh spasm of pain dragged his eyes back to his arm, to see a bead of blood on the lower side of the limb engorge, begin to stretch downwards… but not fall. Like thick, dark treacle clinging to a spoon when your eyes tell you it should have already dropped down.

_This isn't right… this is _so_ not right…_

His eyes desperately searched for answers. Nothing. Nothing.

Nothing.

"Help!" he shouted, desperately, staved-off panic at last managing to overtake him. "Sheppard! Someone! Help me!"

And from the nowhere, from the nothing, something brushed the back of his neck. Soft and silky, like feathers. He froze, paralysed, petrified to his very bones.

He looked down at his arm. Skin smooth. Clear. No blood.

"Yes," that voice whispered, soft, insidious, the sound coming from nowhere and everywhere. "Yes. You'll do nicely."


	2. Chapter 2

_**Note: **Ok, this part's later than I'd planned - severe life crisis and upcoming exams make for not much writing time. For the same reasons I can't guarantee exactly when the next part'll be up, but hopefully within the week. Reviews help me write faster! :P Thank you very much to everyone who's left one so far, you guys are great :D_

_Oh, and hopefully this chapter makes sense... but not too much sense, obviously, there're another couple to go yet ;)  
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Atlantis was dark.

Completely dark.

And that was wrong. Atlantis was _never_ dark. Wherever anyone went, at whatever time of the day or night, it lit up ahead of them. Unfailingly. Especially for him, because Atlantis _liked_ him. It also liked Sheppard, possibly more, despite the fact that it wasn't he who ran around doing all the useful things to keep the city functioning and all its current inhabitants safe, but merely happened to naturally possess a genetic combination which gave him an unfair advantage.

Not that he was jealous, of course.

But Atlantis was dark now. And it _shouldn't be_ dark.

Rodney looked around him in confusion, but he couldn't see much. Ghostly moonlight must have been filtering in from a window somewhere, because he could just about make out the barely-noticeable contrasts between the floor and the walls. Instinctively he reached for his radio, but it wasn't in his ear. It _should_ be. He felt strangely vulnerable without it.

_Lights,_ he thought, but Atlantis didn't respond. And that was wrong, too. There must be a power failure. Probably caused by one of his scientists messing about with control systems. He would need to get to either the control room or the ZPM room to see what he was dealing with.

Get… get to…

He blinked, and his eyes suddenly widened, darting around frantically. _Where the hell am I?_

He was in a deserted Atlantis corridor, in darkness, without the faintest idea of where exactly he was, or how he'd got there. And… he strained his ears, his mouth suddenly dry.

There were sounds.

Footsteps.

Not military boots, or civilian shoes, but the soft pad, pad, pad of bare feet. Coming closer.

He spun around in the direction of the noise, and stared into the shadows, his eyes as wide as he could make them, imaging the pupils expanding to take in every filament of light there was, but he could see nothing. "Who's there?" he tried to call, but it came out as more of a squeak through dry lips.

Pad, pad, pad.

"Shh." A sibilant whisper came from the darkness ahead of him.

There was a different noise behind him. A fluttering noise. Like wings.

"Don't move," the same soft whisper instructed him

His breathing was speeding up, becoming ragged, his muscles tensed. Fight or flight instincts rearing, but he was capable of neither, frozen in place.

"Who's there?" he stammered.

"Shh."

"What do you want?" This time it was definitely a squeak which he produced. His chest was knotted tight with fear. The fluttering noise was getting closer, and so were the footsteps. And he still couldn't see anything ahead of him, and the muscles of his neck wouldn't obey him to look around…

Flutter, flutter, flutter, closer and closer and closer, and behind him, long, soft, silky feathers gently brushing against the nape of his neck…

He squeezed his eyes shut and held his breath…

And –

His eyes snapped open and light suddenly flared around him, blinding him, as the presence behind him suddenly vanished and his knees buckled. He dropped like a stone to the floor, not doing anything to lessen the bruising thud of impact, and lay there, curled into himself, sobbing for breath, tremors of heat wracking him, feeling himself burning up, his skin slick with sweat. Nothing there. Had to be a dream. A _dream_. Just a _dream_.

Nothing attacked him. There was no sound apart from his harsh breaths and drumming heartbeat in his ears. At length he managed to open his eyes again, once they had adjusted to the bright lighting, cautiously lifting his head. The hard floor was uncomfortable beneath him, and cold. He pinched the skin of his forearm, feeling the little flare of pain. Yes. This was real.

Slowly, he pulled himself upright. His turbulent mind began to take stock of the situation, rationalising it. He was in a deserted corridor, somewhere in Atlantis, his feet bare, shivering now.

"You were sleepwalking," he said aloud, refusing to acknowledge the traitorous shake to his voice. "Stupid thing to do. Should have known better."

But where had he sleepwalked _to_? He began to follow the line of the corridor, his breathing still unsettled, legs still feeling as if muscles had been replaced with jelly. He kept touching the wall with his hand, its solidity reassuring him. Nightmares were nothing new. He had become used to them in the past few years. But this one – this one had felt so _real_. And he had never sleepwalked before, as far back as he could remember.

He must be a long way from his quarters. A long way from anywhere, in fact. He reasoned that he was probably in one of the towers, as some of the architecture gradually became vaguely familiar. But he wasn't even sure if he could trust his memory on that point, his mind still playing tricks on him, making him jump at shadows and noises that weren't there. A large window loomed at the end of the corridor, and he uneasily watched his reflection shimmer unfocused , trapped inside the pane of glass, with the blackness beyond. He didn't know what time it was, but there was no hint of dawn in the dark sky.

Suddenly, Rodney froze. He was _sure_ that he could hear something, something real this time, distantly. Not footsteps. A softer sound. It could have been the waves somewhere, but not quite, swish, swish…

And there was something he should know… something to do with a voice, whispering… and ruins…

_Isn't there a mission to some ruins in the morning, looking for an energy source?_ The thought chimed in his head, confused somehow. Like a déjà-vu, if that was the right word to describe a thought…

He looked down at himself. He wasn't wearing the joggers and t-shirt he usually wore to sleep in. He was dressed in infirmary scrubs.

_What…_

Cautiously, he took a step closer to the glass. And another one. He needed to get his bearings from the rest of the city, but the reflection of the bright-lit hallway blocked anything from beyond. _Dim_, he silently instructed the lights. They faded, down and down as he continued to peer out. And then they switched themselves off altogether, but he could still see nothing on the other side of the window. "You can work this out," he told himself, trying to sound tough and fearless.

"Shh."

At the sound of the whisper, he spun around instantly around, facing the way he had come, mind numbed, not thinking of turning the lights back on.

Pad, pad, pad.

Those footsteps.

He backed away a step, aware of the blank window to one side, and the open hall which continued at his back.

Pad. Pad. "Stop."

His feet stopped involuntarily. He seemed to have no control over his own body. _This is a dream. This is a dream. This is a dream…_

"Don't move."

He didn't move. He could hear the speaker advancing. He was swallowing rapidly, his palms slippery as his hands formed ineffectively into fists.

Pad.

Pad.

And with a splintering crash, the window beside him suddenly imploded, his blurred image shattering, long sharp skewers of glass launched spear-like towards him, glittering with reflected moonlight. _What moonlight?_ his mind wanted to know, but the thought vanished half-formed as they whistled through the air, reaching him before he had time to do more than bend down, desperately trying to protect his head with his raised arms.

Splinters pierced his skin. And a sword-sharp shard lanced into the unprotected flesh of his abdomen. He screamed, fell without registering it, hitting the floor hard.

Pad, pad, pad. The footsteps halted by his head. He pried his eyes open to darkness and strained them to see anything, anything at all.

And the lights turned up full again. The corridor was empty. There was only him, lying in a shining drift of glass, red blood pooling around the shards. He watched the lake of it grow, watched it spread and touch against the pale skin of one outstretched hand, dispassionately, through half-closed eyelids. _That's my blood,_ he thought, almost surprised at the realisation. _Mine._

_Something… Something's wrong…_

_I'm cold…_


End file.
